


you cant get hard without blood

by milkeygay



Category: IT Chapter 2
Genre: Assault, Bloodplay, Bowers Gang - Freeform, Child Abuse, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gore, Knifeplay, M/M, PTSD, Painplay, Pregnancy, Rape, Self Harm, Suicide, Underage Drinking, dubcon, gender ambiguous reader, high school au where pennywise might exist but who knows, reader is kinda a sick fuck, slowburn, tw for pretty much everything, x Reader, x reader smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2020-12-16 05:28:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21030998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkeygay/pseuds/milkeygay
Summary: henry bowers has all the children of derry under his fingertips and y/n can’t wait to get a taste of his grip.





	1. bully’s make me feel alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short intro for u fucks, ly <33

everyone knew henry bowers was a fucking loon; from dunking kids heads in the toilet to carving threats into their bare flesh, he was evil through and through.

y/n knew this, shivering each time they walked past him and met his cold gaze. every time they felt a pang of guilt or doubt or, god forbid, desire within them, that stupid fucking stare always made them retreat into themselves. luckily, the feeling was always fleeting, and at the end of the day y/n could sleep soundly with no thoughts of henry motherfucking bowers or his shiteating gang. even though they was plagued with feelings for the boy, they knew that is was nothing more than lust.

wasn’t it?

it was nothing more than lust, they knew that. they repeated it over and over like a mantra. every time they saw henry, every time they’d pass in the hall and y/n saw him smirk out of the corner of their eye, they knew it was just their libido getting the better of them. they suppressed it as much as they could, rushing to school bathrooms and finishing themself off until they couldn’t breathe, but it was never nearly enough. they longed to be touched by him, to be grabbed and toyed with. y/n saw how they threw those poor kids around, and as bad as it battered and bruised them, they still felt a sense of jealousy. they even contemplated some kind of offhand comment if it meant that they would feel henrys hands on them, but still, it never came, and every time they felt friction in their jeans they simply ran to a dingy stall and fucked themself relentlessly.

they wished they didn’t have to and, someday, somehow, they’d find a way to get henry fucking bowers in this stall with them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updates will prob be slow cuz im a student and life is tuff but i promise ill finish it have mercy ://


	2. yell at me more i like it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw there’s some smut stuff kinda...and the reader is they them w fem genitalia sorry i had to choose one lol

y/n clutched a few books to their chest, rushing to their locker in record time. they didn’t quite know why, but the whole day felt like they were skimming the ice, feet dancing on something too thin to tread. they were scared to say the least, and they couldn’t think of it being the fault of anyone but him.

henry.

sure enough, there the mullet wearing asshole was, leaned against a locker and staring shamelessly as some girls ass. y/n allowed themself to feel envy for a moment before continuing their scurry, eyes plastered to the floor. they navigated through the halls, winding from left to right and right to left to avoid touching the hot, sweaty meat sacs that wandered about them. every brush of skin on fabric or hair to forehead and breath against fingertips made their eyes dart from tile to tile; they had to keep moving and they had to do it fast. some unknown angst fueled their movements, and the sensory overload of constant teenage chirping and the churning in their stomach made them stomp with fury.

so furious, in fact, that they ended up face first in some strangers chest.

wait, not a stranger, definitely not a stranger.

henry fucking bowers chest. it felt hard against their features, almost sculpted enough for y/n to makeout the outline of abs. goddamn, they were so short, face meeting his pecs and their collarbones slapping against his chiseled abdomen. it was so rough, so fucking rough, and all at once the flurry their feet carried them with came to a stop. their breathing ceased entirely, and they remained steady against the surface in front of them. god, they wanted to stay here, they wanted to inhale every odd and musky scent that henry had to offer. they wanted to reach under his shirt and make use of their close proximity. instead, they were grabbed by the shoulders and peeled off of their newfound sanctuary.

they looked up at henry, whose eyes were completely unreadable, all y/n saw was their color. blue—they were sky blue, no, ocean blue. fuck, whatever it was made their knees weak, so weak that they didn’t even think to say anything and, instead, kept mindlessly eyeing henry whilst they still could.

“watch where you’re fucking going” he yelled, yet his grip tightened, and y/n lost all control. they were putty in this guys meaty hands. “ya hear me?” henry shook them now, reminding them that they weren’t just imagining this and henry fucking bowers was holding them close enough that they could still feel the heat emanating off his body.  
y/n murmured, words barely coming out. “y-y-ya, i…” they didn’t event finish their sentence.

henry chuckled, sadly letting go of their shoulders and letting them drop to the floor. “jesus fuck, what’s wrong with you??” he stared down at them, literally. his brows furrowed as he looked on, wondering what the fuck kind of interaction he was having. y/n’s eyes were still trained on him in awe, it seemed. he exchanged a simple look with pat, and then with vic and belch before turning to meet y/n’s eyes again, almost searching for confirmation that this was happening. it was enough to make y/n talk.

“s-s-s-sorry, i—“

“can you not fucking talk or something??”

y/n shook their head, still on the ground. their palms rested flat on the dusty floor, keeping them from swaying from side to side; they felt like they were floating, almost. “i-i can talk” they spoke the most coherently they could muster, eyes glazing over with wanderlust and, quiet frankly, just lust.

“get the fuck up” henry demanded. y/n wasn’t very receptive.

the floor became their best ally, at this point, clinging and scratching their nails against it as their mind flickered over the thought of henry on them. god, it was thrilling, the recent memory replaying over and over and over until—

until it was happening again. henry, with both hands clutching their tiny frame with a bruising force, hauled them to their feet. y/n was confused, why would he help them? he didn’t even know them, so why would the most feared guy in all of derry lend a helping hand to, well, y/n. there was no reputation to stick to them, no title that fit the bill, they were just y/n. disgusting, horny y/n who was getting wetter with each second that henry could be felt on them.

henry scoffed, hands falling to his sides again. “get the fuck out of here” he commanded, and this time, y/n listened.

they ran off, now moving with the intensity of someone running from death. it felt like they were, never once looking back at the bowers gang and their inquisitive stare and opting instead to book it for the nearest bathroom. this was a familiar routine for them: see henry, start fantasizing, and pray that their fingers were talented enough to get them to scream as much as they were sure that henry could make them. never, though, had they had so much to work with. they never had this amount of spank bank material, and they ran their hands over their bony biceps shaking at the sensation of henry. that’s what he was, a sensation. he was a ghost on their flesh, a shock running through them in waves. y/n bit their lip to stop from moaning at the mere memory, drawing an unhealthy amount of blood with their bite.  
they slinked into the stall farthest down from the bathrooms entrance, already sliding their panties down their legs and starting to work. they were already soaking wet, pre cum clinging to their thighs in an embarrassing manner. they didn’t care, though. normally, they would blush as their hands worked to get them there, but today was different. god, it was so fucking different. 

their back pressed against the wall and their leg was perched on the edge of the toilet bowl, fingers pressing on their throbbing center. they were teasing, oh god, they were teasing as well as they could with the building pressure in their gut. they barely needed to touch themself to make them squirm, just their swarming mind was enough to keep them busy. when they first made contact with their clit, they let out a yelp. they could feel the tension in the bathroom, the two or three others occupying it probably gawking at the closed door, mouths hanging agape as the crack in the door spared their imagination. y/n was truly a spectacle to behold in this state, blood trickling down their lip and eventually their chin, falling aimlessly on their hands that were operating so tediously.

they wanted to cum, of course they did. they wanted to release and smooth their clothes and hair down and pretend as if nothing happened, but they couldn’t. the haunting feeling of henry was too much to waste on a shameful whack, they needed to savor this. they needed to milk themself, to dry out every little image of their encounter that they could; every freckle, every pimple, every crease and crevice, they needed to see it all.

and they did. they saw henry and his beautiful visage, willing themself to ignore the hard expression set across it. he was so gorgeous, lips parted slightly in befuddlment and practically begging to meet y/n’s. god, they could have closed that gap, they could have kissed him and been forever known as the idiot who died trying to fuck henry bowers, but damn, they would have kissed him, at least.

y/n strokes themself harder. they could have kissed him, they were so close, their body was pressed against them, they could practically feel the outline of his c—

and they were peaking, head slamming against the wall and eyes flooded with stars. “henry!!” they screamed, immediately silencing themself with their teeth. their mouth pooled with blood, and they swallowed it in one gulp, the tang of metal in their throat grounding them from the high they was riding.

so much so that they crashed, chest billowing and hand slipping out from between their legs, only to lay uselessly at their right. they wanted to do it again and again and again, to bring back the euphoria of it all and to remind themself that it was all real, but they found himself paralyzed. “henry…” they whimpered. they found his name had now turned sour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yea sorry if this sucks ive has to rewrite it a million times lol. thx for reading, next update soon <3


	3. tick tock tick tock

y/n bumped one foot against the other, playing a tiny game of footsie with themself. anything would suffice to distract them from the droning and monotonous lecture their lang teacher was giving with such haste. he spoke so fast, words practically spilling out of his mouth and into the air with no real reason. it was synecdoche here and zeugma there—it didn’t fucking matter to anyone but him, that was a guarantee. in all honestly, he was probably just spewing out garbage for his paycheck, making it truly meaningless.

y/n sighed; they were wasting their time. they raised their hand to use the bathroom, grabbing their bag and electing not to use a pass as they left the room. no one noticed, luckily, and they were free to roam about the halls until the day ended.  
they found comfort in the boys bathroom—they always did. whether it was for lust or for lack of interest, they found themself glued to tile walls with no intention of leaving until they were satisfied one way or another.

they fished a cigarette out of their pocket, lighting it quickly before taking a long, slow drag. once the nicotine entered their body, their eyes rolled back into their head. a feeling of warmth encircled them, and that common cocktail was once again mixing about in their stomach. they remembered the last time they had been in here, how they had been so enthralled and so exhilarated.

god, how the mighty have fallen.

and it was henry bowers fault, it was his fucking fault. it had been nearly a week since the event had happened, and y/n had been skipping and ditching and flat out hiding if it meant they never had to confront the best orgasm they had ever had in their entire life. if they recognized it, if they had picked apart what had happened then they could long for it again. y/n simply couldn’t have that. they couldn’t sit up late and night and get hot and heavy over the thought of the school bully between the sheets with them. they couldn’t pine over the same boy that beat on everyone who dared look in his direction. they couldn’t touch themself to the thought of henrys hands on their shoulders.

they just couldn’t let themself be fucked over by a memory.

so they didn’t. they denied themself that satisfaction, and opted to smoke as much as they could whenever the urge struck them. so far, they had breezed through two packs of reds in the span of five days; they could feel their lungs getting smaller and lighter, but they didn’t seem to care.  
they breathed in the smoke, letting the familiar aroma slither into their nostrils and envelope their body. it was hot and dirty, and it made them wince, but they suppressed it if it meant that they could forget.

yea, forget. 

as if they could ever fucking forget henry bowers. henry bowers, henry bowers, henry bowers. that was their brain, constantly swelling and deflating with the sight of him. they let his face slink back into their head again, they gave themself that much. after all they had been  
through the past few days, they deserved a good memory—and that it was. it was henry, of course, but his expression was soft and welcoming. it was inviting, almost, and they could’ve sworn they saw golden orbs etched into his pupils if they searched hard enough.

“fuck!” they pounded against the wall, beating the stars out of their head.

they littered the floor in the form of blood, y/n now sporting a leaking wound on their forehead. “fuck…” they whispered, now giving the word a new meaning. “fuuckk--fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…” their vocabulary became limited to a single expletive as they scrambled to clean their face. they swore some more at the realization that there was no toilet paper in the stall, nor the stalls next to them.  
jesus, they were lucky they were alone. the bell was sure to ring soon, though, and they struggled with the now gushing hole in their head. they hadn’t even hit themself that hard, they thought, for there to be such an insurmountable quantity of red coloring their hands and face. 

they stared hopelessly into the mirror, thinking over their options as more and more liquid poured out and the clock ticked like it was threatening them. tick tock, tick tock, it hummed low, but it was all y/n could hear. their focus shifted to the tiny hands moving in perfect order behind a glossy, glass dome, trying to match the sound with each advancement the appendages made. tick tock, tick tock. it was like it was mocking them, like this was all some sick joke to get them back for even trying to forget what they were here for. they felt like they were being punished, no, they were sure they were being punished. they were facing the consequences of being a teen, or being horny, of being stupidly head over heels in love with henry fucking bowers--

the ticking stopped along with y/n’s breathing. with one hand, they brought their cig up for a drag, and the other fell with a sting to their side. glass scattered across the floor, bouncing with an awful echo that made y/n grimace. they took one last inhale before flicking the cigarette to the ground along with the rest of the mess they had made. they glanced down at their bloody hand, shards of glass ripping through skin with each flex of their fingers. they didn’t seem to care, using that same hand to remove their top, wipe off their forehead, and wrap it around their fist, clenching the glass into their grip until they could properly tend to it.  
they left the wreck behind, not even bothering to stomp out their butt. the halls felt colder than normal, air pricking at their sensitive flesh and stretching across their body with malice. they were still being punished, y/n supposed.

the sound of the bell ringing invaded their pity party, and they were forced to travel a little faster than their aching body would’ve preferred. they breached the main entrance, looking onwards at the dreaded trans am parked across the street, the same street they had to walk on to get home.  
they trekked forward, not even bothering to acknowledge nor care about the glances their shirtless body got. it didn’t even phase them until they reached the gang, music blaring and cusses slipping into the air when it could be heard. y/n was so out of it, they didn’t even realize they were directed at them. “hey, freak!” they heard henry yelp.

y/n turned to face him, robotic as their weight shifted from foot to foot. “yea?” they asked, simply.

henry was taken aback with the blood—hopefully, it was the blood. “jesus fuck, what happened to you? get your fucking period or something??” vic yelled, only adding a joke to mask how concerned his first comment had come out. the surrounding three chuckled dryly, glancing from person to person for some form of recognition. 

y/n rolled their eyes, turning to walk away just as fast as they had arrived. “hey dickwad! we’re not fucking done with you…” henry jumped out of the car, the rest of the gang looking on with confused expressions. even y/n seemed to snap back to reality at the prospect of henry approaching them again, however, it was short-lived, and y/n soon found themself staring with nothing behind their eyes. “nice tits” he smirked, and y/n let out a chuckle.

“thanks,” they blushed against their better judgment. as much as their mind had broken, their body betrayed them in every way.

henry was no more than few feet away when he decided to step a bit closer, shortening the distance with a cocky grin on his lips. his focus was on y/n’s eyes, never once straying from their stoic, obsidian pupils. y/n’s insides were crawling again, making them feel like the same stupid kid that had ran to the stalls to finish themself off to the thought of this happening. they didn’t care whether henry was going to hurl slurs, punches, or even spit, y/n was willing to be used by him in any way and they were most definitely going to love it.

they didn’t dare move a muscle when henry was inches away from them, knowing they would find a way to accidentally meet his lips. “w-w-what are you doing…” y/n spoke, stuttering and stammering through their words.

“there ya are!” henry applauded mockingly, “our little f-f-f-f-freak.”

y/n clenched his stomach at the word “our” coming from his lips. god, if only he knew what that meant to them. if only he knew how hard they’d slam down on their hands to the thought of being henrys. if only lasting a moment, their mental breakdown had came to an abrupt end, and they were reminded of how mesmerizing henrys face was up close. they recalled all the same marks in the same places, just as they had memorized not so long ago, and different creases in his cheeks as his face was pulled into a shark-toothed smile; they were so lucky that they had chosen their shirt and not their pants.

henry came forward, intentions hidden behind a face that could only be described as sinister. y/n gulped, and henry took their second of composure to lurch forward and lick a long stripe across y/n’s forehead, collecting blood across his tongue as he did. his smile didn’t falter as he pulled back, tongue hanging out of his mouth like a dog and painted with y/n’s pain. he paraded it around for a moment, going between his gang and y/n for any sort of reaction, before recoiling his tongue back into his cavernous grin. he looked on with satisfaction, swallowing his prize as obnoxiously and blatantly as he could. “mhmm,” he hummed, walking backwards and finding his way into the car without ever removing his presence from near y/n. “a positive, huh?” he questioned, car roaring to life and leaving a cloud of dust behind in its wake.

y/n twitched, the trail of saliva still wet on their face. they wanted to scream, to fall to their knees and weep, to run after the car and bloodlet themself just to see henry smile. instead, they pulled another cigarette out of their pocket, lit it swiftly, and kept walking in the direction of their home with cum leaking down their legs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not my best but pls lmk what y’all think and whether i should keep going, thx for reading <333


	4. i see the stars in your eyes

y/n didn’t show up to school the following monday.

they spent the day walking around town and taking their sweet time enjoying the shithole that was derry, maine. they’d stop to grab and bite, maybe swipe a pair of earrings or a lipstick here and there, and then have a thirty minute smoke break where they’d stare at the brick wall in some dimly lit alley and relive the feeling of henry bowers tongue on their skin.

it made them smile, oddly enough. even though they had vowed to repress the feelings they had developed for the little psychopath, they couldn’t help but crack one when brushing their fingers against the spot where henry had—

what exactly had he done? 

y/n spent much time contemplating over it, for sure, because it wasn’t purely because they wanted him, it was also just so fucking weird. sure, it made them throb, but it was equally as confusing as it was beguiling. y/n could’ve sworn they felt henry vibrate against them, his body shuddering with a moan that the smaller figure wouldn’t dare to let get past them. maybe it was their fucked and horned up mind just weaving the web that y/n wanted, but they could never be certain. they were being fueled by nothing but nicotine and dum-dums, y/n wasn’t sure of anything at this point. they were going absolutely fucking mental, their weekend consisting of a lengthy jerk off sesh sandwiched between hour-long naps. they couldn’t let themself feel much but lust, because the moment they let their guard down they'd rip through their shitty, at home sutures etched into their fist like a fucked up constellation.

they really did punch the stars out of their head.  
y/n sighed, flicking their cigarette to the ground and walking down the alley, choosing to leave before their brain got the better of them. they sauntered down streets with no real sense of direction, and simply let their feet take them wherever they so pleased.

today, that was to a local liquor store. they planted themself in the front, batting their eyelashes and jutting out their lips, hoping to lure some perverted old man into slipping them the cheapest bottle of vodka money could buy.  
it worked in record time, and soon enough y/n walked away with a smile dancing on their lips and a bottle clutched tightly in their unharmed hand. they unscrewed the top, taking a swig as they made their way to the barrens. they continued drinking with each step, slowly finding thenself winding about instead of walking linearly, and their fleeting fantasies buzzed about with ease. “fuuuckkk…” they groaned, hopping over the kissing bridge and sliding down the steep drop until they hit the ground with a thump, not nearly as graciously as they would have hoped.  
it was like luring a child with candy, it would have seemed, and not only a couple yards away was the bowers gang, bent over and laughing at some kid yelling for them to stop. y/n couldn’t quite makeout what they were doing, and decided that remaining seated and drinking until they couldn’t possibly be considered a liability would be the best option for them to take.

so they sat, looking on in silence as the boys taunted and beat on an innocent kid who was probably just looking to carve some lucky letters into the side of the road just like every other kid in town. everyone was praying for something good to happen, and the kissing bridge just so happened to be the only place that promised that. everyone knew that, and so the side of wooden fence lining the empty street was littered with hopes and dreams, most of which were left to rot away, just like the residents of this old town.

still, kids had gusto, and they hadn’t been dwindled down to a bloody stump like the older generations that had witnessed kids disappear time after time again. they still had that sparkle in their eyes, that unfamiliar desire for something good and pure, something that didn’t exist in derry, and they visited the illustrious sight with their trust placed in a shooting star. after all, it was a gamble, and the stakes were constantly raised with the bowers gang being somewhere nearby, preying on those who still believed that they could truly find happiness in the miserable atmosphere cultivated almost everywhere in derry. they truly did prey on the innocent. it was almost like a fucked up fairytale, and y/n was bearing witness to the live show.

belch was the first to turn to leave after the kid scurried off in a panicked daze. the rest followed suit, knowing better than to ditch their ride for a few extra minutes of dicking around by the sewers. henry, however, stayed behind, shouting out a little “whatever” to the guys before walking awkwardly away from them, almost like a futile attempt at an escape.

and away he went, the image of him getting blurrier, smaller, and hazier with each sip of bottom shelf alcohol that flooded y/n’s body. it singed their insides, heat funneling up and being pushed back down with each sip.

y/n was content, though, just drinking and probably passing out in the middle of the woods, both wanting for and fearing another meeting with bowers. as much as they’d like to get up and run and find him, their better judgment told them not to, which was so strong that it overpowered their drunken libido that crept up every now and then with some intrusive, outlandish suggestion. i could find him, y/n thought, still stuck firmly to the ground with no real intention of leaving. of course they weren’t going to, it was henry fucking bowers, what would they even say? “hi, i’d like to bleed into your mouth,” no, no they couldn’t fucking say that. as much as they’d like to blame it on the alcohol as they stumbled recklessly after the blonde haired boy, they knew full well that they were better off waiting for something good to happen.

so they did. they sat patiently, taking a swig now and then, allowing time in between to prevent their world from warping. it was only responsible, they rationalized, to take these precautions in case anything were to happen. they felt stupid, though, counting the seconds between drinks to assure that they weren’t going to regrettably down the whole bottle in a drunken daze and fly down the wooded trail after a guy that may or may not want to beat them up. they huffed, still counting the seconds in their head until they could take another sip, annoyance riddling their internal tone. they had a few minutes to go, each number that flickered across their brain making them light up in fury.

y/n felt really fucking stupid, now.

henry wasn’t here, he wasn’t coming to see them, and y/n was nothing more than drunken fool sitting in the woods hoping for something that would never happen. they were no better than the idiots who took their precious little wants to the kissing bridge, except, y/n wasn’t dumb enough to think their dreams were going to come true. instead, y/n was just a moronic teen who wanted to get railed and didn’t really seem to care whether or not it was going to happen, but still feared the latter.

they looked around, vision lagging with the movement of their head. everything seemed to move in slow-motion, and y/n forgot what number they had last uttered. “fuck this!” they screamed, downing as much of the bottle as they could in one go.

unfortunately, y/n was a very capable drinker.

“well, well, well,” henry clicked whilst breaking through two trees, “what do we have here?”  
y/n wiped the dribble off their chin, now very much aware of how they weren’t physically capable of standing or--moving, to be quite honest. whatever henry was setting out to do, it was surely going to happen, and y/n could do nothing about it.

not that they would, anyway.

“is that the freak, huh? did the freak come to visit me?” henry cooed, kneeling down to gawk at y/n.

they giggled, the vibrations making them curl and uncurl in their comfy spot in the hillside. “what if i did?” they asked boldly.

“then i better show you a good time” y/n could never be more thankful for liquid courage.

henry lunged forward, taking y/n’s lip between teeth and bit down with a searing amount of force. blood immediately began to spurt out and drip down y/n’s face, making henry smile at his good work. y/n only mustered up enough energy to lift a hand to their lip, brushing their fingertips against the stream of red coming out of them like a faucet. if they weren’t so intoxicated, they would surely be gasping and writhing around like a maniac, completely taken by the boy who controlled their every move. today was not that day, and y/n laid almost entirely motionless and in shock as henrys hands moved to their hair, entwining themselves between locks and yanking back with extreme force.

the back of their head hit the dirt, and y/n screeched slightly in surprise more than actual pain. “shh…” henry shushed,” don’t want anyone hearing us, do you, freak?” he asked playfully, grip still steady along y/n’s scalp.

they shook their head, and henry smiled wide. that was all he needed to keep going, to push y/n to their absolute limit. he forced their head back until it was almost entirely horizontal, and y/n stared up at the sky that was now growing darker and darker. henry began to lap up the blood that had ventured to their neck, flicking over certain spots and sucking at others. occasionally, y/n hissed when teeth was felt against their tender flesh, and henry just dryly chuckled as he continued to gnaw at themlike a toy. that’s what he was, admittedly, y/n was a toy to him.  
for y/n, though, this was so much more. they stared at the darkening sky, eyes glazing over with lust and love and every emotion under the sun. they were in pure ecstasy, driven by the fact that henry bowers was on them in any way. their eyes concentrated so tightly on the blackening mass above them, littles inklings of light sprinkled about in no particular order. they fixated on those little patches of glitter, jaw hanging open in awe of the collections of powdery pockets of stardust, moaning both at the sight and the sensations enveloping them. it was so much, so fucking much for them to take in. 

henry was chewing on them like he was scraping meat off a bone, and y/n wiggled about at the feeling, utterly powerless against this boys desires. “more...god...more,” y/n nearly screamed, a hushed and hasty comment flinging itself into the air. 

henry brought his head up long enough to flash a snarky grin. “more? the freak wants more??” he was cackling at the writhing mess pinned beneath him. “what does the freak want, huh??” his hands slithered along y/n’s body, roaming around like he owned it; it made y/n sop beneath their tight jeans. 

they ached to be touched, to be grabbed and groped and fondled in any way henry pleased, but they couldn’t simply just say that. they couldn’t sit here and cry out for the towns least favorite maniac to reach beneath their panties and take them to heaven; god, they wanted him to. y/n bit their lip, catching a hefty amount of blood in the process and letting their tongue venture out their mouth to get a brief taste. it was copper and metal and pennies and plastic all at once—it was disgustingly delightful. y/n didn’t bother savouring it, instead choosing to drain their wound of whatever blood remained. they relished in the pain, sighing as well as they could manage with their lip tucked tightly behind their front teeth. it was too much, too fucking much happening. they hissed haphazardly, letting out letters in no particular order, no words daring to formulate. 

and then the wind was taken out of them, a white knuckled fist meeting their abdomen, again and again and again, every punch making his smirk grow obnoxiously wider. “y-yes…” y/n grumbled, a bleeding, bruised mess at henrys mercy. 

maybe it was the alcohol or the adrenaline of being munched on by the boy of their dreams, but the attack wasn’t registering for y/n. to them, every time a blow was landed to their side, their chest, and even their face, it didn’t quite sting like they would’ve expected it to. they supposed that the boy was just going soft on them, sparing his little plaything until he decided to take up beating the snot out of them another time, but y/n knew better. they saw the fire behind henrys eyes, sparkling and flickering like it would burst from behind his sockets. he was truly a sight to see, pummelling the life out of this short, intoxicated mass wedged firmly into the dirt until their hard went limp with fulfillment—y/n’s hard, definitely not henry. it was unruly, the energy that was erupting from such a small encounter with seemingly no reason and the wild and untamed plight against them remained without explanation, but it was best kept that way. if anything, y/n just wanted to bottle it. they didn’t need to understand and analyze why henry had taken such an interest in them, all they needed was his flesh against theirs.

it was almost enough. “so—so close…” they cried, and henry took the chance to pull back even harder, force so heavy that he could’ve scalped the poor kid with another tug.

y/n reveled in the pain, taking each hit like a champ, no, like a beggar. they wanted this, oh god they wanted this so bad. they inched forward as much as possible, legs spread instinctively at the prospect of having that familiar urge silenced by henry himself. every slight adjustment earned a weak mumble, each of which was nothing more than a plea. they were desperate for henry to touch them, nearly sobbing with anticipation with the lingering chance that they would get just what they wanted. they were already so near release, just waiting for a final scratch at them to usher in that final moment of bliss. god, they were so eager, hips jutting forward over and over until the larger boy took notice of the figure beneath him writhing in anguish. “what do you want from me, shithead?” he licked his bottom lip, quickly exposing his teeth in a flash of confidence. it was that snarky fucking grin that said it all; henry had the power he wanted so bad and y/n wasn’t going to do anything about it.

y/n didn’t respond in words. their body rutted upwards, crashing against henrys shin with vigor. y/n let out a yelp, signaling to henry that the ball was in his court; he could either give the punching bag what they wanted, or he could get and leave with a smirk on his face.

henry was feeling nice today. his knees hit the ground in a display of his finality, to show that he wasn’t going anywhere. his leg met y/n’s clothed cunt with promptitude, earning an even louder sound than before. henry laughed at this, fully aware that he could do just about whatever he wanted and get away with it. no matter what he did, y/n was going to cum and henry would get to bask in his success like a god. “h-henry…” y/n spoke lowly, words barely audible but enough to give them pleasure. it was true, henry bowers was getting them off and they needed to release this happening to the world. the utterance made it real, and that in itself got y/n to scream.

and that they did, raw and guttural sounds echoing from inside them and bouncing off the trees and into the night sky. henry pushed back with his flat, open palm, clutching recklessly around the youngers throat. surprisingly, henry wasn’t giving much force to his grasp, only using the position to push y/n’s head into place. that place, of course, was the indent formed in the dirt behind them now shaped wonderfully by the repetitive slamming of their skull into the earth. it fit so perfectly, though, that y/n didn’t complain, getting enough mobility to look up at the twinkling ether and still have the opportunity to perfectly see the blonde haired fiend pressed upon them. they took turns between the two, always drifting back to the black painted skies above rather than the boy to their front. it was their only means of salvation, of keeping them from losing all function and control of themself. having henry so close to them was a luxury they didn’t quite earn, and the more they stared at the sky, the less they had to guilt themself into suppressing their climax.

henrys stare was piercing, though. it seared into their bloodied features with animosity, the remainder of which was being funneled to his methodical and calculating leg movements. despite starting with a grand slam, he took his time scraping against the part in their jeans, knees ever so bony and putrid against y/n’s masked folds.

it was infuriating, y/n’s hard starting to swell with impatience. they persisted in their grunting and moaning and overall show they were putting on for henrys amusement, but the boy seemingly wasn’t appreciative. “no,” his chokehold finally felt like a threat, “look at me…” y/n was smart enough to listen.

“good,” henry almost sounded like a lover and not a bully.

his pace quickened, an unbreakable stare locked between the two. the comfort they found in their roughly etched out hole was diminished, and they were suddenly being confined into a box by a stranger. this wasn’t henry bowers; this wasn’t the boy that administered ruthless punches to y/n’s guts and slathered spit across their jaw not only a few mere moments ago. y/n could have easily forgotten all of that if it hadn’t been keeping them so immensely turned on, but their mind was still losing the connection between these two characters. this henry was different, fingers enclosed tight enough to make an impression without causing much hurt. he was so different, in fact, that y/n’s cries lulled and were supplanted with small pants of pleasure. there was no happiness or jubilance in their howls, instead, the two were bathed in shared sustenance from a meek meeting of shin to denim. and meek it was, the back and forth of his legs becoming a minor casualty of their encounter. this was only solidified with his eyes, the savage presence behind the oceanic orbs was gone, presumably, in seconds. henry wasn’t soft, he never would be, but he was smoother to the touch. there wasn’t fire in his features, instead there was a sparkle. then, there were several. in no time, henry had the stars scrawled into him, expression illuminated with the same twilight that extended from him. his mouth twitched up, a signature smirk being aided by centuries of constellations among him, and his lips left only the tiniest amount of space between them for him to utter the faintest and most inebriating word he could’ve chosen.

“beauty…” he spoke, and y/n wrapped around him in elation, every ounce of cum they could offer making its way to leave a noticeable mark on their lower half.

there was perfect stillness between the two, y/n clinging like their fatigue would make them pass out if henry was to leave them there, which truthfully, was a possibility. they had never been in such proximity with any man, yearning to use this experience to fill that once insignificant void. their forehead fell, clinking against henrys, who did nothing to stop them. his hands were still on them, one still at their throat and the other gripping their waist; he didn’t show any signs of hesitation in strengthening his hold. in fact, his thumb ventured up the silky valley of skin, finding its way to caress across y/n’s cheek. “t-thank you…thank you…”

“don’t,” henrys tone was filled with spite, normal to his daily disguise, and y/n knew they had went too far. he still held the figure under him with some sort of intention, like the fulfillment of some emotion he wasn’t ready to register. it felt so incredibly right, he thought, to be doing something that he had never considered. he had discovered something so novel and, somehow, so wrong. still, he was henry fucking bowers, when did the concept of right and wrong ever stop him? yet, his hands began to wonder off, ghosting over y/n’s frame with wonder as to what he had just committed himself to. “tell anyone, and ill fucking gut you.”

and just like that, he was at attention, turning to walk back to the bridge without even taking a memory with his leave. at least now, y/n could have them all to themself, adding the image of henry obscuring in the distance to the list of things they would need to forget tomorrow and, upon failing, they would keep forgetting about until they were six feet under. y/n could never truly let henry slip past their mind, no matter how hard they tried.

so they stood stiff as a board, sobered up by the recent recalling of henry pulsing against their aching center. they shook their head in disapproval, fetching their bottle from the ground before twirling about their toes to leave with it firmly wedged between their lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this story is gonna be really henry-centric so sorry if every chapter sum is poppin i would just rather die than write filler lol. lmk how y’all like it, expect another update vvv soon<333


	5. the paper man crumbles

y/n found themselves trying to relive the glory days—well, glory day, singular.

they walked down the frequented and worn sight that was the kissing bridge, hoping to catch a glimpse of that short sleeved, puny muscled boy who had taken them to heaven only a few days ago. god, it had only been mere days since y/n had fled the scene with remorse and longing in their gut, somewhat reinforced by their literal battering via henrys homicidal outburst.

y/n didn’t seem to care, clutching their abdomen with content and strolling down the streets once again with a cigarette hanging out their subtle expression. they had already had their share of quiet, lonely moments spent running their fingers along the painted markings on their body, pigmented deeply with purples and reds and even some greens here and there; y/n was in love with henrys creation. they loved the thought of henrys fist reaching their plush exterior with such intensity, leaving those ghastly impressions upon their flesh with a cheshire like grin plastered on his face. contrastingly, y/n also loved the henry that got them there, the henry that made them see the moon and the stars in someone’s eyes alone. it was quite perplexing, and the more they pondered it the more useless the dialogue became—they just loved henry, that’s all that really mattered.

y/n clenched and unclenched their fist, the wounds almost reaching the end stages of recovery. the altercation with henry had set them back a few days, but they were certain it was worth it.

although it stung, it kept the kid occupied as their leisurely stroll took them down to the barrens, occasionally stopping to skip a stone or two.  
they plopped down with a huff, overall disgruntled from how lonesome they were. they missed the thrill of everything that henry brought with him; he was intimidating, demanding, and controlling. he was all that y/n could have wanted in a person, but henry was no ordinary guy, and this was no ordinary romance between high school sweethearts.

at least they kept telling themselves that.

lyrics itched at the back of their throat, pleading to be sung or recited or screamed in any way that would distract the aching teen from the brewing in their stomach. “get into the groove…” y/n murmured in a low voice, kicking at the gravel to pass the time. “boy you got to prove…your love to me!!!” the volume of their cover swelled, enunciation on their final syllable enough to make their throat raw. it echoed throughout the environment, birds and bugs alike chirping at their request. y/n cracked a small smile, looking down upon the shallow stream that grew to show the moons likeness. it was getting late, but they truly didn’t have anywhere to go. their heart pounded in their chest, and they could only concern themselves with the likes of henry. it was driving them absolutely mental, to only want for one thing in their life, but they clung to it like a prayer—and that they did. they prayed, yelled, yearned, and sobbed for something to come of their depraved struggles, of their late night shuffling between the sheets and above the sheets and beneath the sheets, and it never did. y/n was ripping their hair out, clawing at their biceps, picking at their frayed and oversized t-shirt; their mind begged for serenity that they just couldn’t deliver. not now, not yet.

their cigarette was down to the filter, sizzling at its conclusion and being thankful for its disposal. y/n searched for another in mere minutes, finding the lack of any stimulation in the stagnant night to be overly eerie. though they were praising the powers above for their affinity for petty thievery, they stopped dead in their tracks at the sound of distant scuffling.

surely, y/n didn’t fear any man, but derry was different. it was a constant battle of checking over your shoulder, shaking out your shoes, and checking behind the shower curtain before you popped a squat; everyone in this godforsaken town was scared of something—and it wasn’t a man. at least that’s what y/n thought, and judging by the battle scars they sported from their short time amongst the most despicable peoples this quaint little junction had to offer, not much could really drag them down. whatever it was that lingered about the streets late at night, y/n could suppress their trembling knees and glossy eyes; they always did. if they were going to let themselves be enveloped into the arms of one of the most deranged and unstable teenagers to grace the earth, y/n would learn to dismiss the ghost of derry, maine-- they had bigger fish to fry.  
so they continued to suck on their red, savoring the sight of smoke blurring out the treeline like an abstract painting. the nearby noises only worsened, growing closer and closer with every snap of a twig and each slide of footsteps across rocks. y/n took a momentary glimpse to their left, and just like that their façade crumpled.

sitting in a pool of murky, polluted sewer water and covered in blood was none other than henry bowers in the flesh. just my fucking luck, y/n giggled, unsure of what higher power was writing out this storyline for them.

that earned a look from the disheveled boy, who only gave y/n a momentary glimpse before returning to his prior task, whatever that may be. “fuck…” he grumbled, whisper sounding more like a scream in the desolate forest.

y/n continued inhaling, smoke filling their lungs in a desperate attempt to keep their feet planted to the ground. seeing henry was a gift they couldn’t register, and the cig between their lips was the only thing preventing them from becoming afloat. they tried to maintain their aloof mask, a cloud of grey circling around their figure and sheltering them from the bloodthirsty mess only a few yards away, but the more they denied themselves of henry, the more worry started to creep up on them.

once their prior disguise had faded, y/n could finally get a good look at the boy across the stream; there, in a battered, bloody muscle tank and boxer shorts was henry, shaking like a leaf in the wind. the sight made y/n’s skin crawl. no force conceivable could spur henry into such a state, as y/n had believed, to be whittled down to a measly and hollow shell of his former self. although they couldn’t get a perfect image of what was plastered on his face, y/n was positive it wasn’t that shark toothed grin they were so accustomed to.

they stood up swiftly, making their way over to henry with a heavy heart and light steps. he barely even noticed anyone approaching, only alerted when y/n had already taken comfort by his feet. without exchanging any words, y/n passed henry a cigarette, pausing to light it beneath a protective palm and diverting their gaze as the boy took a huff. they stared at henrys feet—bare and dirty. they couldn’t imagine what brought him here, what cruel being could drag the one and only bowers boy down to the level of the people he pushed around himself. y/n tried not to invade his privacy, to give him ample space to decompress and allow a nicotine buzz to soothe his problems, but that moment never came. instead, henry sat whimpering between puffs of his bummed cig, legs shaking and eyes looking about wildly, terror most definitely trapped behind his pupils. as he persisted in surveying his surroundings, y/n dared to look up at him, now resting gently by henrys almost entirely unclad lower half; if it wasn’t for the expression set upon his features, y/n would be swooning at this. there they were, alone in the woods, sharing cigarettes and side glances, the smaller close enough to hug at their senior and take in that familiar scent, however, they wouldn’t be able to savor it. coupled with how scrambled and discombobulated the typically foreboding blonde appeared, y/n couldn’t help but see the same boy who held them to his chest and panted gently into their ears. henry was unraveling before them, and y/n couldn’t stomach the thought.

so their shaky gaze was stiffened, fixating on henrys tear-stained face, adorned with one swollen, black eye and enough minor cuts to make y/n squirm. defeat wasn’t a good look on henry. “hi—“

“shut the fuck up.” y/n swallowed their comments for a moment, allowing henry to have control over them for the time being; y/n knew he needed that much.

as much as they probably shouldn’t have tested him, y/n began to speak with as much of a soothing tone as they could manage, voice shaken by the form before them. “i don’t know what happened, but, im sorry, you don’t—you don’t have to talk.” it was the most they had ever talked to him, and they were most definitely feeling the effects.

they wiped their clammy palms against their knees, which were contorted and tucked underneath them and soaking uncomfortably in the stream of prickling, frigid water. y/n sighed, if henry had to endure it, then so did they. “i don’t have to tell you shit” henry hissed, hatred spewing out in an artificial manner. henry had put those walls up again, and y/n had to slowly break them down whether or not they were given the chance.

after all, y/n wasn’t scared of henry. sure, they were tormented by him, beat on, and choked into submission, but it wasn’t anything that y/n couldn’t handle. it didn’t matter what henry had in store for them, because y/n didn’t concern themselves with themself, as twisted as it had appeared. y/n wanted to belong to henry, and if that meant they had to be used as mechanism for his savage outbursts, then so be it.

y/n gulped, their nervousness subduing to dangerous levels. “i know, im not asking you to,” y/n extended their hand to henrys knee, just slightly hovering it above the surface itself, “im just sorry, okay?”

henry stared intently at the gesture, contemplating whether or not to deny comfort. he didn’t want a pity party, it seemed, and just as quickly as his mind began the internal debate, he had reached a ruling.

his fist hit y/n hard, planting itself firmly into their jaw before skidding across the rest of its path. the teen was flung into the water, almost impacting the ground before their reflexes could preserve the half of their face henry hadn’t already decimated. after a brief moment of bemusement, y/n simply hoisted themselves back onto their knobby knees, eyes still trained on the boy above them. they submitted themselves to him, looking on with confirmation in their eyes. “do what you gotta do,” suddenly, their voice was like silk. “forget it, just forget it” y/n begged, advancing forward to the other, hesitance gone and both hands gripping henrys thighs. they searched through his dreary look, eyes cast downwards and brows creasing to enunciate the shadows created by the night sky. he looked like a villain, dressed with black paints and glimmering orbs set upon a skeletal, bloodied head; it was marvelous.

y/n nodded with the smallest of movements, flashing a few teeth in a genuine grin before henry was upon them, blows being thrown like his life depended on it. it was violent, painful, and grueling, each hit being supped by the petite figure at his fingertips. the attack was brutal, lasting a measly minute but feeling like it could have equated to a lifetime of wretched torture. y/n curled into themselves, remaining shaken by the encounter. their left eye had rapidly swollen and multiple bruises were making appearances along whatever skin henry had even so much as breathed upon. when he had delivered his concluding punch, he plopped back into the same familiar rock formation as before, frown now supplanted with a look of exhaustion. for y/n, that was enough to consider this worthwhile.

“i didn’t break anything,” henry spoke with a commanding tone, statement being offered as a response to his own inquiry.

y/n shook their head, raising themselves up slightly to rest upon the rocks to henrys left. they heaved, sprinting to catch up with the pace of their heartbeat. despite taking a physical toll on them, y/n sat completely deadpan. “t—thanks,” they mumbled, blood gargling about their mouth as they spoke.

henry cocked a brow. “for what? breaking your fucking face??”

y/n laughed on instinct, the effort forcing a rough cough to itch at their throat. “no, no, for—um—not, uh, not breaking me…”

henrys infamous smirk graced his features, making y/n brighten. “yea, sure,” he scanned the small body of water, its flow now becoming the perfect white noise to accompany their minimal dialogue. the small sloshing droned on, and y/n outstretched their hand to henrys leg; this time, he accepted, the continuous bobbing that had occupied his attention now halted by a single worn hand whose digits barely spanned the entirety of the mass of flesh. his stare was powerful, almost enthralled with such a minute action that is made y/n twinge with guilt. of course he never experienced this sort of tenderness when with his friends, but—god—it nearly made y/n weep to see how detached and corroded this boy truly was. he didn’t deserve to run to the depths of the town, chest vibrating with anxiety and eyes glossed over with fear. he didn’t have any reason to be choking down tears in a place of total isolation. though he was the only reason why y/n was now sitting here bloodied and utterly shattered, they couldn’t bring themselves to wish ill upon henry. instead of letting any indications of their heartbreak slip past, they tried to generate some warmth by delicately smoothing back the fabric of his underwear, fingers inadvertently grazing his bare skin in the process. his eyes rolled back into his head at the contact, and y/n stifled a cry.

henry returned to his normal deathly gape, and y/n settled into the partition of his thigh and the boulder. “you’re bleeding,” y/n observed quietly, mouth running too fast for their thoughts to catch up to.

“wow, ‘ya must be a goddamn doctor or ‘sum” he ridiculed them, arms folded across his chest as he straightened himself up.

y/n put on an understated smile. “let me help.”

henry transitioned from hand to eyes, locking like he had those few days ago. the sensation of their connection felt strangely familiar, sending bizarre pings and pangs coursing through both of their bodies. henry, admittedly, got the worst of it. “i think you’ve done enough,” he stopped contemplatively, “freak.”

y/n let out a full belly chuckle, not minding the rippling of their injuries along their body. they clutched their middle, steadying themselves from toppling over in their fit of laughter. it was only simmered when they began to remove their shirt and the energy between the two went static. now y/n was almost entirely exposed, only being kept from complete vulnerability by a ragged black set. henry eyed their figure with anxiety riddling his gut, unsure of whether he should be turned on or perturbed by the youngers actions. he chose the latter, and he watched with prudence as y/n’s muscles flexed as they moved, dragging across prominent bone and emphasizing the damage that remained from his prior assault. “i’m not gonna fuck you, ‘ya psycho,” henry warned, examining the surface area of multicolored skin at his feet.

y/n smiled to themself as they dipped the cloth into the water, joints creaking with wear as they gesticulated. they lifted it back up to henrys legs, slowly beginning to scrub the muck away with no comment to their intentions. he jolted at the contact, knee rutting up and a hiss scraping between his teeth. “sorry, it’s cold…” y/n’s voice trailed off, feeling powerless to even console henry, however, he settled back into his position and allowed y/n to continue with their task.

they perked up, gulping down their enthusiasm and concentrated at wiping off dried and crusty patches of blood from their favorite boy. they maneuvered their tool with agility, taking minimal downtime with their swoops and flourishes and making quick work of their tidying. their fingers pressed skin to skin kisses along henrys body, travelling further and further north of his calves all the way to his bloated, flushed face. y/n cooed with as little volume as they could, more or less assuring themself that henry would be okay, and took one continuous sweep across his stoic expression. henry stayed still as a stump, but y/n felt satisfied in erasing the chilling red stripes that decorated his features like tribal paint. as their laboring intensified, they leaned into henrys lap, bracing with little pressure against his center to keep from toppling into the murky waters. it was an absentminded extension of comfort, and henry caved into y/n’s touch, hands encircling the youngers elbows as they rested upon his thighs and eyes fluttering under their care. he sank against their frame, bare and shivering beneath him, yet still exchanging some form of consolation in their proximity. y/n didn’t quite know what was occurring within the boys head as his normally grand and intimidating posture had faded into a feeble hunch, but they pressed on with their mission, demonstrating as much compassion as they could produce under the bizarre circumstances.

it began with subtly giving allowing more weight to rest upon henry, offering him some warmth as the breeze whipped past their exposed flesh. he didn’t shy away from it at all. in fact, he found himself shifting slightly to allow for y/n to come a bit closer, fully aware that the figure below him was barely wearing any clothes. somehow, the touch didn’t feel sexual or promiscuous, henry just felt like he was being held from all angles.

once y/n got a better hold on henrys reddening cheeks, they started to stroke them lightly. it only happened as a casualty of their prior affair, but it became apparent that this was a goal. their caresses were mellow enough to prevent any rebuttal, so y/n furthered their actions by letting their thumb run against his jaw, feeling upon the sharp edges and defined structure that composed the boy. this, surprisingly, earned a moan, but not of pleasure. y/n could tell as his mesmerizing blues became hooded by his lids, flickering between sight and joyful blindness, that this had nothing to do with arousal. henry was feeling things he had never felt before, y/n was sure of it, and they were lending their hand, literally, as a guide in this uncharted process.

they braved themselves for their next move, positioning their body at eye level with henry. the quick flash of breath against his face startled him enough to open his once serene eyes and bore holes into y/n’s skull. “what are you doing?” henry confusedly mumbled, voice slightly groggy.

“i just—uh—wanted to clean you eye.”

henry paused. “it’s black and blue, ‘nun you can do ‘bout that.”

y/n breathed out in frustration. they steadied their hands before their target, nodding their head to tell henry that they were going to continue with the aforementioned plan. upon receiving no refusal, y/n danced upon the surface with the crumpled shirt as best as they could. they managed to remove what blood had collected beneath the deepening folds in his eyelids, dabbing gingerly at the bruises that were temporarily branded to him. their fingers didn’t venture from outside the cover of the faux gauze, not even tempting themselves to press upon henrys still throbbing injuries. “enough” henry commanded, and y/n lowered themself with reluctance. 

pure silence populated the air for a moment, but y/n could sense the ease with henry’s breathing. instead of being ragged and rushed, he inhaled with comfort; y/n reserved a feeling of accomplishment to themselves. 

“y’know, you’re bleeding, too.”

y/n’s head returned to its attentive state, invested in whatever henry would say next; they were such a helpless little fan for this hell-spawn.

“c’mere,” he swiped the shirt from y/n’s grip, patting them down haphazardly and lapsing in his movements several times to dunk the entire mass of fabric beneath the water. he operated with a fury, his intentions pure, but execution still appearing vicious. he couldn’t help it, though, that was simply his nature. y/n was thankful enough to just have henry offer, they didn’t care for the manner in which he conducted himself. they sat patiently, although henry was done in a whopping one whole minute, pulling back to examine his work. “much better,” he tossed the shirt around y/n’s neck, grip still firm on either ends, “could still use some work, though.”

the two cackled with what little energy they had left, the sopping pile of cloth still resting atop y/n’s neck. henry began to tug at it, holding it up to examine with disapproval. “you gonna go home like that?” his eyes scanned y/n’s body, only now remembering that they were overly visible. they retreated into themselves with a demure grumble, arms folded and concealing their chest they had nonchalantly paraded not only a few minutes into the past. henry took notice, and stood rigidly, action scored by a harmonious crackling of his joints. the skeletal song continued as he moved to remove his own shirt, uncharacteristically pulling it over y/n’s upper half.

the younger was exuberant, noting the scratchy, irritating texture of the interior and the musky scent that began to encapsulate them. it was so far from perfect, and yet y/n could’ve melted.

henry stared down with an artificial gripe. “i’ll walk your dumbass home,” he hoisted them up to their feet with no prior indication, “there’s other crazies in this town, too. can’t have them—seeing this.” y/n nodded slowly, absorbing the offer with each step that henry took away from the barrens, turning with an annoyed expression at the figure behind him. “are you coming or what??” he spat, a smile still placed ever-so-subtly on his lips. y/n glared with disbelief, henry voluntarily giving the other some indication of humanity within him. his eyes reflected the starlight like perfect, rounded mirrors, yet they were tinted with fatigue. his torso was crafted so elegantly, but somehow still held a tinge of creepiness to it with its slightly misshapen and far too damaged nature. most apparently was his shit-eating grin, hanging like a crescent moon with the same allure as a cheap bait, however, y/n could makeout each chipped and crooked tooth like it was their job. the more they stared, the more henry lessened his role as a deity, a god, a messiah, or whatever the fuck y/n had convinced themselves that henry represented. for once, henry was just a man with knife and taste for blood, and that was enough for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was originally one h ugee chapter but i split it up so next chapter will take place immediately after this one and tw warning: it’s super fuckin soft. as always thx for reading and lmk what yall think<33


	6. there’s beetles in my stomach

henry advanced towards y/n, who was taken aback by the sudden closeness that was becoming ever so familiar between the two. henry’s soggy hands clasped around y/n’s sore wrist, twisting it about to follow him without hesitation. he pulled gently, their body inadvertently entranced to walk after the boy, gaze still trained on him with adoration in his eyes. 

he tugged them along the trail, words left entirely unspoken until they reached the road and their pace stabilised, finally able to trek instead of trudge. their solid stare could have spanned lifetimes, practically drooling and foaming at the mouth at such a tender act. henry didn’t pay them any mind, and persisted in clutching their wrist with vigor. his hold started to wane done to y/n’s hand, fingers locked in one stationary plane and finding their way around the smallers clammy palm. they didn’t respond, nor did they marvel at the affection like they admittedly should have. instead, y/n continued the stroll, basking in the content silence and hiding a toothy grin beneath the collar of henry’s t-shirt. they took this time to contemplate the situation further, drinking in everything from the material of the tank to the way the boys fingers moved ever-so-slightly with each sway of his hips. they wanted to giggle, to let out any indication that they were being seduced by the sweetness henry had to the tenacity to muster, however, they couldn’t ruin such a picturesque moment. this wasn’t like a hazy jerk off or a malicious fight, this was simplicity; it was kissing goodnight on the first date, arguing over who pays the bill, comparing hand sizes to grace oneself with that intimate contact. this was normal, y/n realized, and they were not going to jeopardize their, presumably, remote opportunity to play pretend and parade around like a couple of teenage sweethearts. even though it was a far stretch bordering on a flat-out lie, y/n was fine if it meant that holding hands on street corners was still on the table. 

they glanced up with haste, trying to lessen the reality for henry. they knew this was only a task necessary to protect his favorite plaything from the predators that prowled derry, and if he had the choice, y/n would have been left to rot until henry felt the urge to lull his murderous tendencies. he was a user and an abuser, but y/n was willing if it took his worries away even for a minute. even if it meant being bludgeoned and berated by some pubescent psychopath, they were always willing to lend a hand as long as henry accepted. him giving in was all they needed to confirm their place, their societal role and their importance in the grander scheme of things; not a doctor or a lawyer or any bullshit pursuit that would suffocate them in errands instead of experience, but something that made their heart flutter—y/n belonged to henry, period. 

their eyes found his face, prepared to have their flight sunken by a grimace or a grunt, but, much to their surprise, henry looked transcendent. sure, he always did to them, but that ever present glow that radiated like a disease was constant, and y/n knew that he was at peace.  
their selfless sacrifice had worked, and they could tend to their wounds with not an ounce of regret. 

still stuck in their daze, henry looked down to meet their obvious gawking. “what? you got ‘sum you wanna say??” he threatened, his pulsating blues giving away just how meaningless his words were. 

“you’re—um—im—“ they stuttered, half expecting henry to stop them with some poor insult and lighten the mood with his usual malice. 

that comment never came. “im y/n” they stated, never once considering that they had skipped past an introduction. 

“i don’t really care,” his grip tightened, contrasting how negligent he was trying to appear. 

they blushed. “yea, i know.” 

“how would you know what i care about?” 

“i don’t…” y/n still held a smile despite his perpetual belittling. “i don’t think i do, at all.” 

henry stopped, movement coming to a halt with a decreasing speed. y/n recognized this, hand hanging limply and still intertwining the two into one stagnant being. the boy turned with a smirk devilishly upon him, using his free hand to snake around y/n’s waist with agility, not giving them any time to consider the sudden collision between their sore front and henry’s bare one. nevertheless, it happened, and y/n was reminded of that inciting incident that never failed to riddle them with butterflies. 

still, henry’s hold on them was pressing, intending to leave traces of their whereabouts behind. “no, ‘ya don’t ‘think’ anything, ‘ya don’t know me,” he brought their faces closer, “got it, freak?” 

y/n chuckled, not nearly as intimidated as they should have been. “you have to think of some new nicknames.” their hands laid flat upon him, tracing mindless scribbles and words upon the scarred canvas as if it was an intricate mural. 

his smile was devious, almost manipulative in its structure. “what makes you think i’m keeping ‘ya around?” 

“i thought you said i don’t think,” they retorted.

henry whinned. “fuckin’ critic, eh?” 

“what’re you gonna do? carve me up??” they challenged, advancing dangerously close to henry’s lips. 

“just might have to, darlin’,” before that beloved contact could be made, henry turned with one hand still around their waist, nails digging furiously into their side and planting the two into proximity. y/n wanted to frown, to feel some kind of disappoint that they hadn’t taken that first step to domestic matrimony, but that light over the horizon was distant. they twinged as henry’s fingertips played their side like a piano; it was a very, very distant light. although it was nothing but a tiny peck to others, that kind of intimacy never had a place in henry’s heart. y/n was property, a piece of meat that he got to operate like his own blessed contraption, and any kind of display of emotion wouldn’t be warranted. moreover, it wouldn’t be genuine, and he spared himself the turmoil of playing pretend with some townie loser. regardless, there was pleasure in the touch and tastes they shared—the sandpapery, slippery slopes of skin cascading upon each other and the gushing mound of red that made his mouth water. there was something there, undoubtedly, but a stupid kiss wouldn’t concritize jack if henry couldn’t comprehend his own rampaging internal diatribes. 

kissing was pussy shit, anyway, and y/n definitely wasn’t going to bawl over something so elementary—they would think that for now. 

henry sauntered about without giving their missed opportunity a second thought. “i might cut ‘ya into little pieces, ‘ya know that?”

y/n laughed, breathy reverberations hitching in their throat. “go right on ahead, bowers.” 

“you’d like that, huh? for me to cut that stupid fuckin’ smile out your face??” he circled around the topic of murder like it was a grocery list. 

“sure,” y/n was too occupied chuckling to pay him any mind. 

“i’ll put it up on my wall,” he made an equivalent noise, nuzzling between the space separating the two. henry pulled them even closer, if that was even feasible, and the two maneuvered uncomfortably from location to location, y/n directing them with sidelong pointing and even some glances. still, henry took note and followed suit, a contorted grin splayed across his bruised mass of a face. 

their dialogue kept itself inaudible for a time, the sheer bliss of soggy clothes odors and ruffled, wet hair clinging and catching to the others skin was enough for now. they were enveloped in an undeniable warmth, protected in their own bizarre bubble from the pin-pricking jabs the world was aiming at them like missiles. it was a team effort, though, and both were unknowingly doing their part. 

he’d put their smile up on a plaque, y/n rallied in hiding, or perhaps he’d just pin it up with thumbtacks. no, no, he’d surely just use some scotch tape to post it on his probably cluttered walls, decorated with road signs and rock posters and, hopefully, one lucky heartthrobs cheshire-like grin. y/n thought extensively, wondering how he’d leer at it with some kind of sensation flitting in his gut—what would it be? would he feel joyous at such a prize? would he be saddened that it was removed from such a suitable host? would he be envious he couldn’t dress the walls in an array of their flesh? whatever it was that populated his insides when he saw y/n’s smile, it would be enough to warrant its thieving. 

y/n’s feet were illuminated by a familiar arrangement of lights, lifelessly dangling from a concave porch centered in a bucolic cul de sac. their head jolted up, looking at the building with disgruntlement. it wasn’t their happy place, it never would be. even if ma and pa had given them the world on a silver platter, y/n would rather sleep with the dogs than in the wretched house they forced the title of “home” upon y/n. 

it wasn’t a home. “out past curfew or ‘sum?” henry raised a brow. 

“what?? uh, no, why?” 

“‘ya look like ‘ya seen a fuckin’ ghost” he cussed, a defensive arm still at their side. 

y/n let their over abundance of jubilance fall. “i prefer a ditch than a bed,” they commented, staring blankly at their feet. 

henry gaped with condemnation. “then you’re a fuckin’ dumbass.” 

“yea,” they shrugged, “i guess.” 

in all honestly, they just didn’t want this night to end. their insides felt like putty, and they sloshed around with anxiety as they dared to depart from their beloved. at least it resembled anxiety, although, they couldn’t be quite sure. it felt like a churning, intestines roping about one another in some demented form of biological double dutch. it made them shiver, a chill running down their spine like a sickening cliche. frankly, everything felt dread-inducing, from the way henry’s rigid arm held them with a bruising force, to the barren wasteland of emotional despair that awaited them in their bedroom. the pinks and pastels that filled them with wanderlust was gone, and henry made them feel something original entirely. butterflies were supplanted with beetles, and they didn’t fly around their stomach with ease, either. no, not at all, not even close; they squirmed about, little room between each organism to keep from the growing pressure on y/n’s abdomen. it was poised to burst from the threat alone, and y/n had to swallow down a bug or two. 

henry shook them out of their crisis; his touch had that effect. “y/n,” the name echoed on his lips. it sounded so fitted, so perfectly crafted for its place in his vocabulary—it was intoxicating. 

“y—yea?” y/n stammered. 

henry retracted himself. “get fuckin’ lost” he delivered a final push to y/n, sending them stumbling towards their front door. they braced against it with opposition, pivoting on their feet to see henry still standing with his hands planted firmly to his sides. they could’ve bowed before him, bare and plastered with enough bangs and bumps to make tears well in y/n’s eyes. it was so much to take in at once, the sheer animosity of their emotions overpowering them. despite wanting to rush back to him with desperation, they simply pushed back on the measly slate of wood that would segregate y/n from their world with a heavy heart. 

henry hit the gravel hard, bare feet clambering about like he meant it; it sounded positively awful. they shuffled about their nearby findings, grabbing at their fathers old baseball jersey and a pair of large-enough slippers to be donated to a boy in need. they rushed back out that condemning portal, henry barely having time swivel around before y/n was extending their offerings. 

henry grimaced. “i don’t do fuckin’ charity” anger sliced through the air. 

“it don’t have to be charity,” they forced the objects into his grasp, “pay me back.” 

henry shot a questioning look y/n’s direction, amazement with their brash words definitely influencing his expression. “i don’t owe people, keep your shit.” he pushed back hard, but y/n only travelled a few inches, expectedly holding their upright position like their life depended on it. 

“just fucking take it, bowers.”

“don’t tell me what to do, shithead.” 

their power struggle was endless, and y/n even found themselves getting flustered with the stubborn, hard-headedness they were met with. “then take it from me, give me no choice,” y/n pulled their gifts to their chest in a possessive manner, “make this your decision.” fortunately for them, they knew how bowers ticked, and after a few excruciating seconds of scrutiny, his face lit up with excitement at the prospect of subjugating his younger counterpart. 

the fight was entirely for show, and y/n succumbed to his strength within a playful moment of tugging at the collection. henry took them with joy, slinking into the sandals and t-shirt as if he had accomplished something far more significant. his smirk morphed into something more welcoming, and y/n released a sigh of relief. “now, get the fuck out of my face before i break it.” 

“don’t tempt me, bowers.” they trudged up the steps to their feared front door with ease, finding the task a bit less daunting with the figure behind them encapsulated in some kind of remainder of their presence. it was oddly gratifying, if anything, to have henry motherfucking bowers walking around bearing something in their name. 

the door was already ajar, and it engulfed y/n like it was begging for them. they allowed this, slinking halfway before turning to offer a weak but enthusiastic wave. 

henry flipped them off, happily making his way back to his house with the last word in his playbook and his middle finger still prominently displayed in the air. y/n chortled, clicking the door shut and sliding down to the ground with dramatism afoot. their fingers waltzed about the ripped tee with curiosity, applying a gentle touch to their concealed wounds and breathing in henry’s musk, knowing full well this scent was going to linger wherever they went; the beetles had suddenly stopped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short n sweet.. well as sweet as henry can be loll. update not as soon as these have been but it’ll happen i promise lmaodjdjd<33


	7. be my babe and ill be yours

y/n was awakened by the toll of a school bell, head raising with little interest as their peers swarmed out of the classroom. once everyone had fled, y/n took their time tidying up their belongings and trudging out of the desolate space, however, they were abruptly halted in their actions, their teacher now standing between them and their blissful departure. 

the teacher scanned them up and down, an expression of disapproval slowly starting to manifest upon her face. “you can’t sleep in my class, l/n,” the woman spat, “next time, it’s detention, got it?” 

y/n shot a playful glare, trying to stifle a laugh at the threat. “sure, okay,” they attempted to push past the stocky, gray haired barrier. 

instead, the teacher held their ground. she pushed her glasses up her scrunched up nose with a huff, avoiding any real eye contact and blatantly looking upon the students features. y/n grumbled, feeling the hatred bubbling in their gut from the disrespect. so what if they were black and blue? so what if they had bandaids stuck to their arms like ornaments? it was no one else’s business but their own. they were the only ones who got to marvel at the injuries with any kind of sensation. though it was never resentment like their teacher was illustrating, they reserved the right to disappointedly nod at the lacerations that littered their flesh, but they never would. it was henry’s signature on their body, how could they possibly be mad? it was this joyous attitude that made their blood boil over even more; this was a gift, and their teacher didn’t have the privilege to look down upon henry’s artistry. 

“sure got a lot of cuts on you…” she spoke. y/n ignored, hoisting their bag further up their sore shoulder to spare their even more sore arm from the added weight. 

the teacher frowned. “maybe you should see the nurse, huh?” 

“i’m fine,” y/n dismissed them, not even sparing them a moment of their gaze. 

“well—um—if you need to talk to someone, about something—uh—i don’t know, something at home?” they stuttered, and y/n finally understood why henry picked on those who couldn’t even configure a sentence; it was infuriating. y/n was becoming so enraged, in fact, that their hand slinked down and around the handle of the switchblade tucked neatly into their side bag. 

their breathing quickened. “i said—i’m fine.” 

the teacher noticed their rigid composure, face twisted in an expression of pure hostility and battered arms steadfast at their sides. she took one step to her right, allowing y/n to breach the entryway without another word, grip still heavy on the chrome blade in their possession. 

y/n didn’t look back, walking to the lunchroom with sheer venom coursing through their veins. they had never felt such a sensation, such pure evil pump through them with freedom they had never experienced. they could feel the fire behind their pupils, the daggers they lunged at outsiders with each step they took, the intensifying of their marching as they found their way to the nearest bathroom; y/n had found a little bit of henry in themselves. no, it was more like henry had put a little bit of him within y/n, shoving his spite and hellfire into their being without their consent. y/n pondered this with amusement, knowing that henry was ever present in their little sphere, having only ever stepped away physically. as if henry bowers would ever leave them, they chuckled. it was painfully—quite literally—obvious that he wanted to brand y/n, leaving his colors, his clothes, and even his character in his wake. he may have turned his back on a kiss, but henry had left a much more lasting impression upon y/n. 

the bathroom was thankfully vacant, leaving them to brace against the wall with a sigh and a cigarette that had happlessly found its way into their mouth. they inhaled with a moan, feeling that familiar tingle that henry had his way of incurring within them. they longed to feel him again, to have his hands around theirs or his knee upon their throbbing center with fury. they sucked in the nicotine with a languid passion, wishing they could supplant the soothing stick with a much more hearty member. 

and just like that, their prayers were answered, and there was henry bowers summoned before them with one foot in the door, taking his time making an appearance. they smirked at this, arms folded with anticipation at his arrival. “well, well—“ their words cut off with the click of the doors lock, unfortunately operational and very much effective in keeping them segregated from any form of assistance. 

not that there was any in this godforsaken town. “‘ya think you’re fuckin’ special because i didn’t fuckin’ kill you?” he approached with a savage expression y/n was so lucky to have not seen in so long. “i should’ve put ‘ya out when i had the chance.” 

his feet carried him with ease, moving with such agility that he could have been levitating. “im gonna make ‘ya wish i did…” he didn’t even smirk, but his intent was clear. 

y/n’s head wanted to wriggle about wildly, to search the air for any semblance of his humanity. they couldn’t, only finding ability to train themselves on his enraged face that grew larger and larger as it inched closer to them. the fire was back in him, and y/n felt the flames; it was raw, malicious, and scorching to feel the effects of. it tickled at first, the usual viciousness that had such a hold on him was fully on display and only humoured them with its intensity. as he came upon them, though, y/n had an inkling of instinctual fright within them. they couldn’t help it, despite not being afraid of henry, they knew that a beating was soon to come. their skin crawled with the idea of their beloveds hands on them in such a way, but who were they to deny henry his therapy? he needed to forget that he had warmth within him, so he cranked up the embers embedded to his core and buried then feelings that had started to blossom outside that suburban flat. 

his fist was the first surface to make contact with y/n—not his calloused but warm hands, not his rough but gentle fingers, it was his clenched palm that came back to y/n. they didn’t have the chance to savour the burning that ran through them like a fucked up, bloodied snake. they, instead, fell beneath him and plead at his feet for a conclusion. their head tucked beneath their arms that once posed so confidently upon their chest, now functioning as a shield against an assailant, not a lover. they clutched their scalp until they were white-knuckled and panting with fear, henry’s ruthless attack never once lapsing in power. it was embarrassing, they blushed beneath their bruises, to cower before him and not have the ambition to straighten up and absorb each hit like they truly craved it. they were supposed to be his pretty little plaything, to waltz around with a sheer lack of sentience, emotion, and response to the hurt henry had in store for them, but they were merely human. they were flesh and blood, veins and organs, gore and guts galore, and they could only maintain their worldly composure for so long. henry was poised to expose them, to take their meagre people-like body and open up all the vulnerabilities for him to play with. it wasn’t titillating or languid, it wasn’t pleasurable, and most of all, y/n didn’t want this. it was more than an assault, it felt like full-blown violation. 

“fuckin’ freak...you thought i gave a fuck about you? ‘ya that fuckin’ stupid??” he yelled, voice cracking with the pure evil in his tone. y/n couldn’t even muster up a reply, as their face was glued to the ground, forced upon the grody surface with hesitance, although it was the least of their problems. “YOU ARE FUCKING NOTHING!! NOTHING!!” 

their skull cracked against their musky safe haven, vision beginning to blur and cognition waning with each new approach henry took to taking them to the brink of death. at least that’s what y/n assumed he was getting at, as they began to see small twinkles of color in their peripheral. they converged into images, intercutting the disruptive blacks that’s littered their sight when a fist found habitat in them. gradually, y/n could see full memories; klepto-related errands, black out buzzes down by the barrens, and their baby boy, their executioner, their bully—henry. they could hear him repeating those same words, “beauty,” it played like a broken record endlessly. it felt like a sick taunt, like a jab at the reality of henry’s moral compass. 

y/n wasn’t beautiful to him, their pain was. 

their head was peeled back with mercy, levelling with the perpetrator. y/n looked on with anguish, anxiety, practically praying with their eyes to drop them like a putrid rag doll. their pupils sparkled, never dulled by the unwavering and unmatched brutality within bowers. 

not henry—bowers. this wasn’t the boy y/n loved, this was butch with his hand up henrys back, prancing him about like a unconsenting little puppet. he had a frown sewn into his makeshift face, the fabric smoothed over butch’s fist taut with determination. he didn’t even smirk, didn’t even chuckle at the gurgles of red or the tiny gasps that slipped past when a rather unprecedented punch greeted their exterior; henry wasn’t enjoying this, but he had to do it. even if he took no pleasure in this, he had been bred as a figure of masculinity, as a constant reminder of insufficiency in the face of his father. there were feelings concocted behind his gaze, and satisfaction was not one of them. henry needed to correct the betrayal of his persona, for letting his guard down for a mere second and letting someone lull him into a sense of normalcy. henry committed a sin, and now bowers was going to repent. 

y/n pitied him, honestly. “look at me,” he said once again, but this time, it wasn’t an invitation. 

“p—“ 

a rough slap was planted on their left cheek, henrys right hand grasping their hair until strays were pried from the follicle. “SHUT THE FUCK UP!!” their head was held parallel against the wall, positioning itself painfully vertical on the cool tile backsplash. “if ‘ya talk again, i smash your fucking skull in, got it?” 

they didn’t reply. “good,” he restrained himself from smiling, “now look at me, you stupid shit.” 

y/n did just that, investigating deeper into his cavernous blues with a desire to find humility in them. it only took a few seconds for them to realize that wasn’t going to happen.”every time you blink, i plant one across this ugly fuckin’ face of yours, ready?” he begged for confirmation, practically, his fixtured gaze set upon them with worry, almost as if he felt a tinge of remorse at his actions. 

just as quickly as the theory was propped up in their mind, henry slapped it out of them, his palm stinging with ferocity against their already pulsating flesh. “blink again, i dare ‘ya,” he warned. henry didn’t quite feel regret, and he was surely going to demonstrate his proficiency in asserting that. 

y/n froze, unsure of what to do. on one hand, henry had a lifetime of spite spurred on my abuse stored in his being—he was unstoppable, immovable in his actions. he had to right his wrongs, and they were drastically at a disadvantage, their body raked with scrapes and peppered with sore spots that ached to agitate. they couldn’t refuse henry, they simply had to splay themselves out like a target and let him do his worst; he undoubtedly did, no invitation necessary. on the other hand, y/n’s frail stature was reaching its limit, their patience for henry’s cruelty dwindling with each agonising second that they leered at one another. as much as they wanted to play their part, they couldn’t conjure up the courage to eat punches as if they were dying for that familiar taste. the intimacy of their locked eyes wasn’t comforting, it wasn’t a shared adoration that intertwined the two into remaining stationary, he was trying to intimidate y/n into submission. even if they welcomed each reminder of his supremacy, he was impressing his disguise like his life depended on it. he was clawing for power, pupils twinkling with celerity as he held y/n’s head in place. he was so steady in his movements, each gesture so calculated that even the slightest brush felt monumental. 

so when his thumb grazed the side of y/n’s cheek, dancing wondrously on their cheekbones did their focus stall and their eyes were shut in ecstasy at the sensation. swiftly, his thumb was replaced with its much larger origin, and y/n cried out in surprise. 

their head was yanked back once more, expression stretched back in a morbid fashion against prominent bone. “make one more sound…” he whimpered against their face, lips encroaching dangerously close to y/n’s cheek. 

“one more sound…” he repeated, nodding to himself in approval of his threat. 

even in their hazy, concussed mental state, y/n could recall him already making such a statement. this wasn’t their first illustration of disobedience, they had clearly given reason for henry to bash the brains in with his bare fists, yet he didn’t. even when promised, henry couldn’t take that final step to committing himself to that ghastly act; he couldn’t kill them, even if he had made such a verbal agreement. sure, they were definitely going to be punished, but henry couldn’t take it to the extent that he needed to. he simply kept staring, reiterating that the following waver in y/n’s accountability would be the last straw, that it would be the one that did them in. they were certain that they were in for it, that their eyes would crust over with fear and water upon its final flutter shut, staying hooded as henry delivered a conclusive thrashing and y/n would stay an unnamed body in a shoddy ditch on the outskirts of town. maybe he would be kind enough to leave them whole, perhaps even give them enough dignity to remain clothed in death. perhaps he would even give them a grave, a flower or a bottle of booze to decorate their resting place. even if it was a long shot, they conceived of a future where he might even shed a tear at the recalling of their blood on his hands, scattered about a high school bathroom and stuck beneath his nails as a reminder of his heinous act against someone who just wanted to love him. then again, it was just a dream, and all y/n could hope for their demise being brief. 

maybe, just maybe he would give them that. “don’t blink…” his gawking become exhausting, and y/n’s straightened spine pressed against even harsher than prior. 

henry challenged their limitations, backing them up farther than conceivable. “don’t...don’t fucking blink!!” he yelled, the potency in his voice dipping in and out as each new word was uttered. “i’ll fucking kill you...if you blink...if you make a sound...i swear.” it wasn’t even inching, it was a microscopic distance that henry closed with his own body, knees skidding across the floor each time he attempted to compress them further into the wedge between the wall and the floor. “don’t...don’t do it…” he whispered, voice coming out with a venomous tone but the volume of someone who was terrified of their own words. 

it could’ve just been a front, y/n thought. what if he was giving them a chance at protection, even if it was from him, what if he was offering salvation? 

there was only one way to find out, and y/n’s heart raced as they were drawn closer to playing with fire. the longer they stared, however, the more their worries grew. he was completely vacant of forgiveness, his bloodshot eyes giving away the red within him. it was rooted into him, his initial instinct to be nothing but savagery. he was supposed to shoot first, and leave the questions for someone else; he didn’t concern himself with whatever everyone else had on their mind, whether it passing a test or getting home before curfew, it was all obsolete to him. he was a creature, a symbol for what animosity really was. he was all bite, no bark required, yet he still carried that despicable reputation with him as he thrusted kids heads into lockers and gravel like the repercussions didn’t occur to him. he was really untouchable, so what could possibly stop him from chopping up y/n into little pieces and scattering them about like the pieces of some putrid little puzzle? 

nothing, there was nothing stopping him. the prospect was terrifying, most certainly condemning them to die prematurely at henry's hand, becoming nothing more than a missing persons poster or a fleeting memory, doomed to disappear into the mass of rich derry history that was all too comfortable with denying the fate of unfortunate teens. y/n didn’t want to dissipate into nothing, to fall into the hands of the ghost of derry and have their faculties ate up like a commodity. to be fair, they didn’t want to make their mark on the world, but they certainly didn’t want to pass on because of a bad breakup that ended in bloodshed. they wanted more, so much more from henry that they had been denied for so long, that they were mortified at the idea of passing on in such a state of utter unfulfillment. they wanted to feel his lips, his hands, his hard on them in all the ways that they had fantasised about, so much so that they sought after him in their gaze, showing him just how much they wanted him without an exchange of words. their eyes stayed widened, desperation heightened with the exaggerated look painted upon their features; it was clear how bad they needed that confirmation, the assurance that they were special and that henry couldn’t take that route to erasing what could’ve been, what they could’ve been. 

henry saw this. more than that, he understood the yearning in their inaudible begs. “y/n, don’t,” he gave in, licking his lips as they watched with anticipation. 

they grinned, ready to take that final blow. “it’s ok,” they cooed, “take me to church, babe.” 

henry brought his face to theirs, chapped lips practically upon their blood soaked ones in his fit of rage. they were hoisted by their collar, fabric ripping harmoniously as henry’s eyes began to well up with tears. “i’m not..” he spat, aimlessly adding brute emotion to his speech in the only manner he knew how to defend himself. y/n was still held level him, eyes, nose, and parted, silenced lips matching up against his. they were too close for the hostility still held within him, their proximity being wasted on a pointless spout that henry would sob about within the confines of his shaken, lash-stricken body. “babe?” he replied with uncertainty, and his brows pointed to the sky with the wonderment similar to a child. his eyes shimmered under the dim restroom lights that flickered from time to time, never once dulling the amazement that plagued henry. 

and then the tear fell, splashing dramatically against y/n’s puffy, swollen cheeks and dispersing down like a waterfall, catching on pools of red as it travelled. gravity pulled it downward, and, slowly, it was tinted with y/n’s crimson pain and became lost against the sea of agony that riddled their face. henry nuzzled against their nose, wallowing in yet another failure to reprimand himself. most of all, though, he implanted some warmth into y/n, who had been shaking like a leaf in the wind since they dared to speak. “shhh…” he purred uncharacteristically, clinking their foreheads together regardless of the effect on y/n’s pounding migraine. he persisted in running their fronts together, fists balled up between the ragged cotton shirt he was using the keep them in place and knees flush against their shins. his back bent forward to allow for his actions to continue, dutifully allowing flesh to meet flesh until he inevitably had to let them the flurry of attraction that populated his insides fall to remain in this vacant washroom. still, he felt it. he felt the spark, the chemistry, the mutual pining that could be satiated with a single action that he so feverishly wanted to commit himself to, but, god, he couldn’t figure out why. without an explanation, without a reason as to why the menace of derry would overturn his reputation for a stupid fucking kiss, longing would survive their prolonging instances contrary to what henry was. at the end of day, regardless of the rose tinted glasses he wore when he felt y/n quiver before him, he wasn’t built for this, so why did he want it so goddamn bad? it infuriated him, his inability to digest his own internal struggles strangling his day to day. henry wasn’t one to get fucked over by a memory, nevertheless something he could grasp in his hands like he owned it.

“next time…” he let them crash down painfully, the eagerness that had developed in their gut coming down with them. “you’re gonna get it, i swear, ba—“ he swallowed hard, taking in his spit along with his adoration that remained unspoken. with haste, he vacated the washroom, leaving y/n to simmer in a collection of their own fluids. 

still, he was close enough to it considering the circumstances, and y/n was content with their winnings. after all, they would live to see another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long to update, i was on vacation! but im back now and hopefully ill post more. this fandom is p small idk if the constant uploads are that warranted, but lmk what u guys think!! thx for reading<333


	8. the devil went down to derry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: self harm 
> 
> OK so big disclaimer..I AM NOT TRYING TO ROMANTICISE SELF HARM! there are a lot of awful elements in this story, and there will be more. im just trying to tell a narrative that makes SENSE when considering both henry as a person and the kind of people that would be attracted to him. henry is a bad person, period, so this alone should be enough to warrant the content.

y/n found themselves wandering the streets once again, digesting each sight like it was the first time they had laid eyes on it. they smiled at the familiar landmarks—at least they were landmarks to them—and they hummed, satisfied at bearing witness to the host of their favorite memories. 

there was the pharmacy, where they recalled seeing henry and his crew perched upon the hood of the trans am in the alleyway, waiting for kids to beat on. they remembered the trembling in their knees, the rigidity in their normal stature crumbling at the mere appearance of henry upon belchs car. his hair was so soft, blowing slightly in the wind and bouncing as he looked up and down the sidewalk for targets. y/n planted themselves behind the thick pane of glass, barely seeing the tip of the vehicle from where they stood. still, it was enough to drink in henrys aura, so they stayed until keene got wary of their stance. forced out by his harsh stare, y/n walked out to see the gang, who paid them no mind whatsoever. they weren’t quite sure why, though, they were an easy target; alone, without any means of transport, and lacking any will to refuse them, they were almost a perfect fit. still, they sauntered past with no incident, feeling loss bubbling in their gut as they journeyed back home. 

the second location they got to marvel at was the derry’s second hand rose, the local thrift spot run by the towns most reclusive hick with a yerba mate permanently being sucked through a straw. y/n got along with him well enough, so they took their time perusing the new additions and giving small, unanswered remarks as they contemplated a purchase. out of all the places in derry they had managed to sneak product from, the unspoken relationship cultivated between y/n and mr. king had prevented them from their usual petty act. so on a normal evening stroll punctuated by a “what’s new?” it was always met with a grunt. “see for yourself,” he muttered, and y/n continued venturing deeper into the merchandise, attention only peaked when henry walked into the store, shivering and asking about old switchblades. y/n didn’t pay much mind to his words, but kept nestled between shelves of crap as they gawked at him from afar. king offered him a “replacement,” as he addressed it, and henry's transaction was swift enough to leave y/n missing him the moment he stepped foot out the door.

“‘ya fancy that dickhead?” kings voice boomed, an uncharacteristic question hanging in the air. y/n hesitated, not sure how to confront the man who never really spoke to them. they shrugged from behind the barrier, realising that they were greatly unseen. 

“just a kid from school,” they replied, going back to their routine with sweaty, clammy palms. 

that was the only day the shopkeeper had ever given y/n a gift, turning over an old yet functioning chrome knife, decorated with pearlescent spirals in the handle that spanned from fingertip to wrist for the small kid. that present remained in their vicinity at all times, quickly becoming their prized possession that easily found a home in y/n’s side bag and their enraged grip. it was a good enough distraction from the effect that their bully had on them, and they focused more on the generosity of others than their longing for henry. today was no different, and their travels were accompanied by that same shining blade. 

the final destination grew nearer and nearer, the splintered, blackening fence becoming clearer as they approached. they vibrated, legs becoming jelly as they were transported to that horrid spot. 

it held too much, the despair and hope and affection and depression that perpetrated the visitors decorated along the edges like a display of rot. it was maddening, to look into the scratchy, rushed lettering in the side of the wood and peer into the dreams of another. some were messages, some were initials, and some were tiny symbols or even drawings that represented the inner turmoil the kids of derry had to undergo. this town was a disease, and each little etching was a desire for a cure, most of which would go unheard and, worst of all, become forgotten amongst the sea of wishes that everyone was fraught with. what an illness they were infected with, and the closer y/n got to reading those pathetic little carvings, the more they were contaminated by it. 

the moon cast a shadow across their features, and y/n was again left helpless in the dead of the night, filled with befuddling emotions and continuously rambling in their head. 

they crouched before their preferred spot in the bridge, a small enough area being left for a few additions. it was crowded with scribbles, sure, but they didn’t want their plea to be an attraction for others. it was their little secret, their hidden cry for something that was already so close in their grasp. this was a final calling, and it needed to be grand. 

y/n took their time working the blade into the side of the fence, scraping out small dips and twists as desired. they probably took a bit too long, hands raw and aching from how desperately they clutched their device in their right, but it was not nearly enough to satisfy their needs. 

that’s what that sensation was in their center--not a searing emergence of faith that surfaced for the purpose of fulfillment, but it was a necessity that was to be completed. henry was not the kiss of a frog, a penny sinking to the bottom of a well with its weight pulling it down to never see the face of earth again; he wasn’t a prize won by dumb luck. he definitely wasn’t dumb, that was for sure, but it was more than that. he was cunning, infiltrating y/n like the promises of the kissing bridge did to the locals. henry wasn’t comparable to the lot. he was everything that was written, spoken, illustrated, or cast upon the big screen. he was too large to bear at times, but seeing his complexities and niches made the harrowing ordeal of pining after the town psychopath just that much more worthwhile. 

sure, they saw him from afar, but, god, they saw him. he was just as everyone figured, vile and primitive in his mentality and even more so in his actions. he could take a knife to someone’s throat without batting an eye, only taking his time to drool at his masterful creation. he craved destruction, dribble falling out his agape jaw as he gazed lovingly at a bloodied abdomen bearing his name, or a beaten teen praying at his feet. simultaneously, though, henry was inanely vulnerable. he may as well have walked around with his skin flayed open like a decadent slab of meat, guts hanging limply out its soggy, mushy home and collecting dirt across the street. it was so effortless to pull him apart, to dissolve him away like fluff in a stream. he had so feverishly developed this person, this bowers front that gave him some credibility amongst the fearful few that swept past him on his day to day. bowers was what fueled his enmity, the subconscious daydreams that plagued him, the flashing images of red gore in his hands that made the character so visceral. he was undoubtedly an antagonist, his past still having a strong hold on him, however, he denied himself the dynamism that laid dormant. maybe it was fear, maybe it was butch, or maybe, just maybe, it was love. that elementary, childish concoction buried six-feet like a decayed cadaver, henry felt it, too. y/n was begging in their brain, swarming with mantras and scripture like they were a fine priest themselves. henry has to have felt it, he had to cling to his bedpost with anger as y/n ran across his mind, toes curled against the sole of his feet as if he was trying to mutilate himself, and body contorting like a rancid little mess of bones. henry wanted them, oh god, he wanted them so badly, their figure driving him crazier than the typical caliber, and their insanity getting his hard eager for something a bit too rough. 

their eyes welled--it wasn’t enough. they were nearing such a high, eyes glazed over in a state of nirvana and the image of henry clouding their mind. they were so compelled to run after him, to yell and scream and beg until he felt that pang within his chest, that sudden realization that he was dependent on each other. they were nearly in symbiosis, something almost out of a comic book or a stupid romcom. it was written in every tale, every retelling of unrequited, hopeless attraction that fell between the cracks and laid dormant on the page. 

it was written, for centuries they put words on paper and it blossomed into a lifetime of adulation that gripped readers like henry's palm did against y/n’s throat. that’s all it took, was a concrete inscription to will it unto the world. 

so their blade dropped abruptly, meeting tender flesh as a new canvas. y/n didn’t bother with the intricacies that they had concerned themselves with for their prior masterpiece. this didn’t need to be nearly as precise, the sloppy teardrops and ragged gestures making it nearly impossible to master their craft. they felt pressure grow in their stomach, pressing upon them like that familiar scrambling of legs and antennae that made them quiver where they sat. they trembled helplessly, hands failing to draw steady lines across their tender mass and, instead, marking themselves with the same insurmountable emotion that was intertwined into their being. they couldn’t quite make out the shape of their work, eyes endlessly flowing with tears that pricked against their swollen skin as it fell. it wasn’t nearly enough to wash away the blood, as it poured out with rapidity, a cesspool of red encircling upon y/n like a confining bubble of sorrow. 

it was all-encompassing, holding them in place and commanding them to keep going. it was terrifyingly, almost, the raw energy that consumed them animating them practically without consent. it felt like their body was taken over, entirely in the hands of someone else. it was as if a spirit had crawled into their flesh, gallivanting around in their rotting little meat suit like it was their own. 

they were alone, though, what could possibly stop them? maybe it was the ghost of derry, lurking in the shadows and driving them to insanity. on the other hand, it was probably just the idea of henry bowers that held them so. his grip was so intoxicating, y/n couldn’t do anything but long for a taste. 

they pulled back with fear, wiping away their pain with little effect. their hands were disgustingly damp, coated with a thin layer of crimson and tears that refused to intermingle with one another, swirling around like a morbid mosaic across their aching limbs. they took in a deep breath, looking down upon their artwork with a pathetic glint in their eyes, hoping that whatever they had managed to leave a trace of would satisfy some greater power. hopefully, it would make the anguish worthwhile. their thighs were inflamed, raised, and warm to the touch. blood continued to ooze out of the lettering like it was escaping some kind of torment; life in y/n’s body probably was hellish, and decorating a sidewalk until it dried up under the scorching sun was a better ending than spilling across the knuckles of some high school bully. 

they pawed at the wound, trying to keep it within adequate readability. “s—s—“ they hissed, the sensation of their own body being torn open like a science experiment for the benefit of bowers making them feel embarrassed. they were so exposed. not in the typical way of a visible chest or a torn dress, but in the sense of being chopped up like a slab of meat for his benefit. 

in that moment, their guts slithered down the length of their legs, peeking out and slipping hastily across the concrete. their entrails were layered in dirt, grime, and grass. 

for once, they felt like henry. not below him, not at his feet begging for mercy, they were his equal. it was a daring thought, but it was blatant. they were virtually made for each other, if their innards were any indication. it was a degrading feeling, but it was what they two were connected by. henry was no better than they were, they understood this now, but they had to fulfill that role that make him feel like a king. they needed to bow before him like he had the world in him, like galaxies and constellations were ordered by him alone. they treated him like he was divine, even if it meant that they had to let their intestines hang out their side like some kind of grotesque display. henry could cloak his, hide it behind his veil of masculinity and pretend that he wasn’t in that same boat with y/n—they would let him have that much. 

their bloodied figure was kept secret by the night sky, and they nestled themselves into the corner of the wood as they stared at their new injury. “h.b.”—those simple letters were scrawled into them. not “henry-plus-y/n,” not a stupid arrow-heart, not a little excerpt that poured out their thoughts and feelings into flesh. it was quaint, to the point, and, most of all, it was for henry. it had nothing to do with them, it wasn’t for them, this was henry’s signature. they could’ve chalk it up to some measly ownership pact, some indication of their inferiority, but it didn’t feel like that. somehow, they little scribbles fit so perfectly in place; they were so much greater. it was a link, something that didn’t need y/n’s approval of. it was established that they gave him their all, there was no need for a branding. 

so it couldn’t be that, it just couldn’t. it lingered and stung, as a wound does, but it carried a sensibility with it, the undoubtable sensation that henry felt it, too. each little swivel of the blade, henry winced and clawed at appendages in confusion, only to be met with their initials outlined in little grooves in his side. he would stare in awe, shocked initially at the sight before him. this, however, wouldn’t last. henry knew better. he would smirk, that same shark-toothed expression that had become so typical for everyday wear. it would fixate to one end of his face, stretching with ease across him as he drank in his newest addition to his scars. this one, though, would be welcome. 

y/n grinned coyly, their hair kissing their forehead like a meek lover. the night sky was twinkling with stars, much like the eyes of their beloved. it was a glorious happening, the moon overcast and shining down like it was made for y/n, protecting them under a dim glow and yet keeping them hidden enough for some security on their lonesome. it was a horrific situation, admittedly, and the close horror at the circumstances should have been enough to make them flee; the nearby rustling, the loud howling, even a cliche twig snapping, it wasn’t nearly reason to make them depart from their new home—a ditch. 

a ditch that bore henry’s name, and that was home for y/n. not a bed, not any formation of artificial comfort that four walls had to offer, it was all found in a small inning at the side of the road. it was bloodied earth and bugs aplenty, the surrounding sounds of scurrying footsteps and wistful air pressing them. the ghost of derry was near, and they were free to prey upon y/n as they pleased, their eyes shut with naïveté. they had never slept better in their young life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i will not be putting any more disclaimers on the chapters aside from a normal tw, but the tags alone should be enough to clue you in on how this is gonna go. 
> 
> thank you guys for reading, sorry this shitty update took so long!! peace:P


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